


Prague

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't copy to another site, Grantaire pov, M/M, Songfic, Tagging questionable consent just to cover my bases, ambiguous pre-fic circumstances, but not in the traditional sense, damien rice makes me dead inside fanclub, past relationship, sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: He throws back another shot before approaching her, sidling up to the space beside her that appears to have been left intentionally open most of the night.  He meets her eyes, a silent invitation there wrapped in the darkness of her irises, and this is wrong, it’s all so wrong.  He orders another shot and hopes the others will kick in soon enough for him not to remember any of this.Warnings:alcohol abuse, sex description (not explicit), self-destructive life choices, meltdown, sad
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Prague

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cheers, Darlin'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616025) by [onemillionbranches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemillionbranches/pseuds/onemillionbranches). 



> I actually finished this almost a year ago, but I've been trying to pace the sadfics.
> 
> Mood was inspired by the Cheers Darlin' fic (linked below) and the sound of Damien Rice's Prague (also below).
> 
> For the full feels trip:  
> ["Cheers Darlin" by Damien Rice](https://youtu.be/GzKFEx-wsJo) (song)  
> ["Cheers, Darlin'" by onemillionbranches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616025) (fic)  
> ["Prague" by Damien Rice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0UOcHqFkHs) (song)
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait) for putting herself through the emotional ringer and beta-reading for me. <3

When Grantaire meets her eye across the bar, he feels nothing but the burning pit of obligation in his heart. He fights past the urge to grimace, shooting her a winning smile and whispering something to the bartender that he doesn’t mean. When the woman receives her drink and leans in to hear his words repeated by the bartender, her eyes fall on him, and he nods. There’s music swirling around him, threatening to swallow him up in the dark, crowded space, but in a way Grantaire knows it’s the only way he can do this. It’s what he deserves, to drown in the nothingness of his own desperation.

_I pack my suit in a bag_  
_I'm all dressed up for Prague_

He throws back another shot before approaching her, sidling up to the space beside her that appears to have been left intentionally open most of the night. He meets her eyes, a silent invitation there wrapped in the darkness of her irises, and this is wrong, it’s all so wrong. He orders another shot and hopes the others will kick in soon enough for him not to remember any of this.

_All dressed up with you_  
_All dressed up for him too_

Empty words pass between them. Their minds were both made up before Grantaire even crossed the bar, it’s nothing but an empty gesture. He invites her to dance with a lilt of his head—another step in a meaningless ritual—and she agrees, because of course she does, and this is where it really begins.

_Prepare myself for a war_  
_Before I even open up my door_  
_Before I even look out_

They start facing one another, but that’s already too everything—too intimate, too personal, too much. She’s turned now, pressing back against him as he runs his hands down her sides, fighting desperately against the flashes that threaten to overtake him. He presses his lips to her neck as she moves, pretending that long, dark hair doesn’t shift to golden curls behind his eyelids; pretending that his senses aren’t overwhelmed by the smell of a cologne that isn’t there; pretending that the sound of his name being stuttered in ecstasy might feasibly belong to the woman beneath his fingers who never asked what to call him.

_I'm pissing all of my bullets about_

When she does lead him out, he definitely pretends that he doesn’t feel sharp blue eyes tracking his exit from the room.

They take the metro to her place, and in the garish glare of the car’s lights Grantaire is reminded exactly how wrong everything he’s doing is, his actions thrown into harsh perspective. And he doesn’t care—he can’t care. This is his reality. He has been given no other choice. 

They get off at her stop, and her apartment is blessedly close; the shots have finally hit, and the world is spinning, and neither of them care. She has a roommate, but apparently that doesn’t matter as she shoves him back against the front door and pushes her mouth against his. He feels his lips respond, which is good because if he has to think about what he’s doing he might be sick. Already, the knowledge of what’s to come churns heavy in his stomach, and he uses that momentum to propel himself deeper into the abyss, pulling her body closer to his and running his fingertips along the edge of her dress.

_Wrap myself in a bag_  
_I'm all wrapped up in Prague_  
_I'm all wrapped up in you_  
_I'm all wrapped up in him too_

They eventually emerge into a room slightly more appropriately outfitted for the evening’s anticipated events. She fumbles for the lightswitch but Grantaire grabs at her hand, pulling it back onto him and pushing her until they’re bumping against the edge of her bed. 

He seems to miss several steps in between, coming to with her hovering over his thighs as she reaches down to relieve him, and things are swirling again. Even in the dark, the glint of streetlights fall on pale flesh and a wicked smile, icy eyes that miss nothing and a halo of blond. Grantaire can’t breathe, and he flips them over, sliding a hand up what he knows are dark thighs and pushing the skimpy dress up to her hips—hers, he forces himself to remember, in case that somehow makes it better. 

_Prepare myself for a war_  
_And I don't know what i'm doing this for_

When he finally enters, he hides his dry heave in her neck, hoping it might be mistaken for intimacy or passion. She doesn’t seem to notice, gripping to him and urging him on. Grantaire begins his steady mission, focusing his strength on ignoring the way the world shimmers around them—him and this nameless stranger. He pushes forth, and if the woman notices the dampness on his cheeks she makes no sign to show it, every gasp and moan that is so clearly hers and not someone else’s stabbing into his chest until he’s swallowing desperately for air.

_Trying to let it all go_  
_But how can I when you still don't know?_

His release is only barely held off long enough for hers to be met, and unceasing waves of relief and disgust wash over him as he rolls out of the bed. He redresses quickly enough, escaping half-hearted questions of where he’s going and invitations to stay. Ignoring when she finally does ask his name and quietly closing the door behind him.

He waits until he is safely out of the building to empty the contents of his stomach at an unoccupied curb. Grantaire manages to wave down a cab and even has the coherency to pay in full without being reminded once they arrive at the place he has been most reliably spending his nights. The cabbie claps a hand over his as he exits the cab, wishing him a safe night. 

More empty motions and hollow rituals.

By the time he reaches his destination, he has given up on stumbling and been reduced to crawling on his hands and knees. There’s symbolism in there somewhere, he decides, but that is a directive for daylight. He pulls himself upright on the door handle, fumbling with his key until it fits into the keyhole like it’s intended. There’s a level of irony to that, too—situational seems most likely, something satirical enough to drive a bored lit student to the brink of insanity—that reduces him to hysterical giggles, propping himself against the door as peals of laughter combine with sobs to streak his face with tears.

_I could wait for you_  
_Like that hole in your boot_  
_Waiting to be fixed_  
_I could wait for you_

His hands eventually steady enough to allow himself into the apartment. He ignores Joly’s look of pity as he slinks to the bathroom, showering and scrubbing until his skin is red and he is curled in a ball on the floor of the tub. He can’t tell if he’s crying anymore, or retching, or even breathing, and when he does leave the bath it’s to drag himself to the toilet bowl. It’s nothing but bile and misery as his body tries to empty itself of any remnant of the night, long after there is nothing left to be emptied. Reaching for the edge of the sink to support him as he stands, he pulls a towel from where it had been haphazardly tossed over the basin and wraps it around himself out of routine more than purpose. 

_What good would that do_  
_But to leave me pricked?_

He ignores the eyes that follow him in the mirror, judgmental and hurt.

_Cheers darlin'_  
_Here's to you and your lover_

When at long last he finds where he has been sleeping these long weeks, he collapses, not bothering to properly dry or dress himself, or even open his eyes once he has passed the threshold. The man from before has never been here, has never received an invitation, yet Grantaire knows that if he opens his eyes he’ll catch flashes of gold and flickers of skin and soundbytes of furtive _I love you_ ’s that he knows now are meaningless.

_Darling_

When sleep finally smothers him, he dreams of nothing.

_I got years..._  
_Pack my suit in a bag_  
_All dressed up for Prague_  
_Pack myself in a bag_  
_All dressed up for Prague_  
_Pack my suit in a bag_  
_All dressed up for Prague_  
_Pack my suit in a bag_  
_All dressed up for_  
_All dressed up for_  
_All dressed up for_

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment below or reach out at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com).


End file.
